


Taking A Tumble

by Dormy1905 (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Comedy, M/M, Sherlock and co. go ice skating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-17
Updated: 2011-08-17
Packaged: 2017-10-22 18:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/241002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/Dormy1905
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John are invited ice skating by Lestrade. Sherlock can't ice skate. Involves jumpers, amusement, and poking fun at Anderson.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking A Tumble

‘Ice skating?!’ Sherlock stared at John ludicrously, ‘have you lost your mind?!’

‘Come on, when was the last time you did something fun for a change?’

‘If I remember correctly, I was ten, and it ended in me falling out of a tree and breaking my arm,’ he said stubbornly.

‘Please, Sherlock, for once? I promise you won’t injure yourself.’

‘You can’t say that. You may cut my fingers off with your skates. Then you really will have to send all my texts for me.’

John sighed.

‘Also, I refuse to go with the imbeciles from the Yard. Lestrade, fine. Anderson and Donovan? I think not.’

‘You don’t have to talk to them!’

‘No, but I have to look at them. That alone makes me want to throw up.’

‘Well how d’you think Greg feels working with them constantly?’

Sherlock looked at John, eyebrow raised.

‘Greg, is it? On first name terms now, are you?’

‘None of your business, Sherlock, it’s not my fault you refer to everyone as if you were a teacher in some posh school. And I’m going if you’re not. So deal with it.’  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

‘There’s normally far more people here than this,’ commented John, as he and Sherlock strode through the doors of the sports centre. The car park had been more or less empty.

‘Maybe it’s not open,’ Sherlock suggested, sounding wistful.

‘Greg said it definitely would be. And don’t think about trying to get out of it. You agreed to it.’

‘Eventually.’

John ambled over to the girl on the main desk.

‘Erm. Hi. Is the ice rink open?’

‘Oh yes,’ she said smiling, ‘go right in.’

John thanked her, and wandered back over to Sherlock.

‘That’s odd,’ he commented.

‘What is?’ snapped Sherlock, already on edge.

‘She hasn’t asked for any money.’

‘Well don’t stand there and complain,’ Sherlock turned and strode through the large glass doors. John followed, a puzzled expression on his face.

Greg Lestrade was sat on a wooden bench, tying the laces in his skates up tightly. What shocked John, however, was the man perched next to Greg on the bench, looking remarkably unlike his usual self in jeans and a jumper.

‘Hello Doctor Watson,’ smiled Mycroft.

‘Um hi, I-’

‘What are you doing here?’ Sherlock grumbled.

‘I was invited,’ responded Mycroft. They were sounding remarkably like a conversation John remembered Sherlock and Sally having, only this time it was Sherlock doing the questioning.

‘John!’ exclaimed Greg, standing up awkwardly in his boots to shake his hand, ‘how are you doing? I see you managed to get him to leave the house, then?’

‘Er, yeah. Took a bit of persuading, mind,’ he glanced at Sherlock who was staring angrily at Mycroft. He seemed completely unfazed, smiling politely back. John wasn’t surprised. That glare fazed criminals, not big brothers.

Greg was staring at the pair of skates in Sherlock’s hand.

‘Sherlock, you do know you can get those here?’ He nodded at the boots.

‘Hm. What? Yes I know. I wanted to make sure they fitted. I’m a half-size. They don’t usually have those at places like these,’ Sherlock said, barely glancing away from Mycroft.

‘What size are you, John?’ asked Greg, walking oddly over to a counter.

‘Er, eight,’ he said, sitting down and pulling his own shoes off. Being a man of 5”7, he had the small feet to go with it.

Greg pushed the door open next to the counter, and emerged on the other side. He pulled down a pair of men’s size eight skates and walked straight out again.

‘Greg, don’t you have to ask for those?’ John asked, confused.

Before Greg could reply, Mycroft spoke.

‘We’ve the place to ourselves, John.’

‘Oh, how ridiculously like you,’ Sherlock rolled his eyes, ‘can’t do things by halves now, can we Mycroft?’

‘Of course not, Sherlock.’

‘Where are Anderson and Donovan?’ barked Sherlock, ‘I thought the imbeciles were coming too?’

‘Richard and Sally are already out on the ice,’ Greg responded.

‘Richard? Richard? Can I call him-’

‘No, Sherlock.’

‘You didn’t even know what I was going to suggest!’

‘Yes I did.’

John finished tying his laces in a loopy bow at the top, and looked over at Sherlock.

‘Aren’t you going to put those on?’

‘What? Oh…yes,’ he replied, absentmindedly sitting down on Greg’s camera.

Sherlock, unlike John, hadn’t dressed very accordingly. There John sat, in his stripy jumper and a pair of jeans, Greg in a well-worn hoodie paired with his own pair of jeans. Heck, even Mycroft was dressed accordingly. It was different to his usual three piece suits. He’d even left the umbrella at home.

Sherlock had actually swapped his suit trousers for his jeans, but only had his thin purple shirt on the top half.

‘Sherlock have you got a jumper or something?’ asked Greg, voicing John’s thoughts.

‘I have my coat.’

‘That’s too long.’

‘There’s another one of my jumpers in my bag,’ commented John.

Sherlock shot him a look.

‘It’s a big one, Sherlock. Might be a bit baggy, but it should be long enough.’

‘I’ll be fine, thank you,’ he stood up abruptly, and tested his new footwear on the rubber floor, almost falling over in the process.

Greg raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.

‘Shall we?’ asked Mycroft, gesturing towards the second pair of glass doors. He stood, and wobbled past Sherlock in his own pair of skates. Greg held the door open, and they both were off towards the ice.

‘I didn’t know Mycroft and Greg were friends,’ said John.

‘I didn’t know Mycroft could skate,’ commented Sherlock, ‘but if he can’t, this could be amusing.’

‘Sherlock,’ said John, walking over to the door himself, ‘you’ve never been skating in your life. I don’t think you have room to comment.’

Sherlock wobbled over to the door, smirking.

‘And have you?’

‘Yes, actually. I’m not bad.’

The smirk vanished from Sherlock’s face.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

The first thing John noticed when they stepped into the rink was that Greg was extremely good at skating. Mycroft was able to skate without help, which was useful as his help was currently racing around the rink at top speed.

‘Be careful you don’t break those skates Mycroft!’ shouted Sherlock.

‘Piss off, Sherlock,’ he responded, as he stumbled slightly.

‘Lestrade, what’s the maximum weight for these? We don’t want to have to pay for repairs if Mycroft’s wearing them,’ Sherlock smirked.

John punched him lightly on the arm as Greg frowned.

‘We can’t all be stick insects like you Sherlock,’ responded Mycroft, ‘at least if I fall I’ve got padding.’

John secretly agreed. If he himself, Mycroft, or Greg (unlikely) fell, they were well built and had lots of clothing on. Sherlock was like a long, tall pole. He would be most likely to get injured.

‘Come on,’ said John, stepping onto the hard ice. Sherlock looked at him blankly.

‘How am I supposed to get onto the ice without the skates slipping?’

‘Just walk. Take a step on the ice, and place the other foot next-‘

‘Yes, I know how to walk John,’ Sherlock snapped. He picked his left foot up, and cautiously placed it on the ice. Triumphant, he quickly lifted the other up. The first foot began to slide. John quickly grabbed his hands. Sherlock looked surprised as he now successfully had both feet on the ice. He tried to drop John’s hands in favour of the wall, but John was having none of it.

‘You can skate forwards. I can go backwards. Trust me.’

There was a loud crash next to them, and Sherlock jumped looking at the shape that had just smashed into the wall. Anderson.

‘Ah, it’s you,’ sneered Sherlock.

Anderson stood, straightening his jacket. He wobbled slightly.

‘Yes. Have you got a problem with that?’ he responded lamely.

‘Not at all.’

Anderson’s eyes took one look at their intertwined hands and smirked. John’s face reddened and he wanted nothing more than to drop Sherlock’s hands quickly. But the man would be very likely to fall over.

‘Richard!’ shouted Donovan from the other side of the rink, where she stood, hands on hips. She mustn’t be a bad skater then, thought John.

‘Coming!’ he shouted back. It was Sherlock’s turn to smirk this time. Anderson shot him a look, and skated badly to where Donovan stood.

‘Dick,’ breathed Sherlock quietly, as he giggled slightly at the unfortunate shortening of Anderson’s name. John wasn’t even sure if Sherlock had even known what his first name was before today. It was, however, quite an apt name.

John tugged Sherlock forward lightly. His feet were all over the place, wobbling continuously.

‘Relax,’ John said calmly, ‘keep your feet straight and near each other to begin with.’

They were nearing the centre of the rink by now. Sherlock responded to John’s instruction by lifting a foot to place it next to the other, leaving the other foot to slide into John’s, who stopped abruptly.

Sherlock, however, kept going. Meaning he ended up skating into John, who grabbed him by the arms quickly. Sherlock looked at John with a panicked expression on his face.

‘Oi! You two!’ shouted Greg, skating right past them at high speed, ‘less hugging, more skating!’

‘We’re not…’ John began, just like many a time. He gave up.

Greg smirked, and was off to grab Mycroft’s hand to persuade him to go faster.

‘Okay,’ said John quietly, turning back to Sherlock, ‘I won’t skate backwards. I’ll-’

‘Can you take me to the side?’

John looked up at Sherlock’s face. His eyes were wide and he looked terrified.

‘Sure. Of course.’

He untangled himself from Sherlock’s long limbs, and managed to help him turn around. Taking him back to the side took five minutes, and once he reached it, John heard him let out a large sigh.

‘Are you sure you don’t want to-’

‘No. No thank you, John,’ he turned without looking at John, and sat down on a bench. He was shivering.

‘Take my jumper,’ said John, hobbling over to his bag. He unzipped it, and threw the curled up oatmeal cable-knit jumper into Sherlock’s lap.

Sherlock raised his head and smiled slightly. Very slightly.

John returned the smile, and stepped back out onto the ice. Not sure of where to go. He didn’t particularly want to skate with Donovan and Anderson, especially Anderson, who he would also avoid for fear of injury. Yet Mycroft and Greg looked pretty cosy and he didn’t want to intrude.

He chose to skate round in a large loop by himself. He’d only been skating when he was younger, but he found it hard to forget how to do it. Harry had been awful. That’s how he managed to skate backwards. Countless times he had done the same thing with her as he had just done with Sherlock.

There was another crash behind him as Anderson smashed once more into a wall. John turned quickly as Donovan skated over to help him up. He sat up, moaning in pain as he cradled a limp wrist in his other hand. John immediately skated over to take a look at it.

‘What are you doing?!’ asked Anderson, moving his wrist away from John.

‘Trust me, I’m a doctor,’ he smiled. Anderson did not return the smile.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

A scowling Anderson left with Donovan, who was left to take him to A&E. John suspected a bad sprain. Probably not a break. It had been his own fault for going so fast, mind. John was quite happy to get rid of the two of them though. He’d hardly spoken to them at all, which he was quite proud of. He might have had to have a go at Donovan if she’d called Sherlock a freak again. But Sherlock had had his own jibe at Anderson as he left, calling him his unfortunate nickname to his face. John tried his hardest not to laugh.

The leftover four were sat on the bench in the first room again.

‘Is anyone else hungry?’ asked Greg.

‘Mycroft, obviously, he always is,’ commented Sherlock.

‘No need to be rude, Sherlock,’ said Mycroft, checking his watch.

‘Well there’s a bar upstairs and it serves pretty good food, and, um…’ Greg trailed off.

‘Well I’d love some food, Gregory. Coming, John?’ asked Mycroft, unlacing his boots.

John was tempted. Really tempted. But he didn’t like the idea of leaving Sherlock down here. If Sherlock actually agreed to come, he wouldn’t eat and would be glaring at Mycroft the whole time. Not an enjoyable experience.

‘Nah, I’ll eat later. But thanks anyway,’ John smiled. Mycroft gave him a knowing glance before he and Greg left, chattering amusedly.

‘So, want another go?’ John asked Sherlock, trying not to laugh at the fact that Sherlock was wearing his favourite cable-knit jumper. Although when he looked over earlier, he could have sworn Sherlock had his face buried in it. Trick of the light. Definitely.

‘If I must.’

John led Sherlock out onto the ice once more, with less stumbling this time. He took both of Sherlock’s hands in his own, and skated backwards. It wasn’t long before Sherlock picked up how to move his feet. John didn’t think Sherlock could drive a car, but if he wanted to learn how to, he would in about ten seconds.

They spent a while skating like this until John thought Sherlock was competent enough to only hold one hand.

However, Sherlock didn’t seem to like this concept, and stumbled backwards. John grabbed him before he obtained any injuries, but Sherlock still hadn’t quite got his balance back. He fell the other way, onto John.

John felt his own feet go from underneath him, quite literally. He landed flat on his back with the full weight of Sherlock on top of him. He groaned loudly.

‘Are you alright?’ asked Sherlock, he eyes wide.

‘Fine. Just fine,’ John smiled lightly.

‘Your shoulder, is it-’

‘It’s fine Sherlock, I’m fine!’

‘Good. That’s good.’

Sherlock looked worried, but John was worrying about how they were going to get up. Sherlock wouldn’t be able to get himself up, and John was trapped.

‘We might have to wait for Mycroft and Greg,’ he said.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

‘They could be ages.’

‘I know.’

They lay on the cold ice enveloped in an awkward silence.

‘I’m sorry,’ started John, ‘I shouldn’t have made you-’

A pair of cold lips on his own interrupted him. He froze in shock.

Sherlock pulled away.

‘Sorry…sorry…I don’t know what-’

But John didn’t care for the excuse; he just grabbed the sheepish face in front of him and pressed his own lips back to where they belonged. Where they had been sat quite comfortably ten seconds ago.

No need to see a smile when he could feel it on his own.  
_____________________________________________________________________________________________

‘…lovely food. Great potatoes,’ Mycroft was enthusing as he and Greg strode back into the rink. They both stopped in their tracks.

‘Er, sorry. Could you help us up?’ asked John, still in his uncomfortable position on the floor.

Mycroft burst into uncharacteristic giggles. Greg hurriedly skated over and took Sherlock’s hands to heave him up.

‘You must be freezing, John!’

‘No, I was fine. I had that lump,’ he nodded at Sherlock, ‘to keep me warm.’

Sherlock smirked.

‘What the hell happened?’

‘I fell,’ Sherlock stated like it was the most obvious thing in the whole world.

‘On top of John?’

‘Yes.’

‘Right.’

Greg held a hand out for John, who rose to a standing position, groaning as he did. Mycroft skated over, still red in the face from laughing. Sherlock shot him a glare, then an evil look took over his face. He turned to John and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

‘Thank you for the lesson, John. It was most…illuminating.’

John turned about the same shade as a radish. Greg laughed and dragged Mycroft away, who had a ludicrous look on his face.

‘Close your mouth, Mycroft, you’ll catch flies!’ shouted Sherlock at his back.

John took both of Sherlock’s hands again and grinned.

‘You are awful to your brother!’

‘He’s awful to me.’

John shook his head, laughing.

‘What?’ asked Sherlock.

‘They did this on purpose.’

‘Did what on purpose?’

‘Sherlock, for someone so intelligent, you don’t have the slightest clue about relationships, do you? They left us in here in the hope that we’d fall over. They planned this day on purpose.’

‘What, you mean they planned Anderson injuring himself? Because I don’t think he’d know how to fake an injury. It would be too hard for him. Too hard on his small little brain.’

‘No, that really is down to his stupidity. But we need to plan something in response.’

‘Glad somebody agrees. But what do you mean?’

‘How long d’you think it’ll take to get Greg and your brother together?’

‘Oh John, they probably already are….’

END

**Author's Note:**

> This was a quickly written, un beta'd fic that came about when I went ice skating today. Needless to say, I was a Sherlock. Dreadful.  
> Sherlock and co. belong to the BBC.  
> The comment about Sherlock being able to learn how to do anything if he put his mind to it was in fact made by Mark Gatiss. I just included it.


End file.
